


soothe my soul

by mediocretrombone



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bernadetta von Varley Needs a Hug, Dorothea being an amazing gf, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocretrombone/pseuds/mediocretrombone
Summary: “I’m sorry. For ruining it.”
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73
Collections: femslashficlets: queer women's literature quotes challenge





	soothe my soul

**Author's Note:**

> written for the femslashficlets Queer Women's Literature Quotes prompt table, #10 - 'We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings', Audre Lorde, Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power.

Dorothea, as always, looked divine, even with her hair messed up from Bernadetta’s hands and her lipstick smudged (Bernadetta distantly wondered if there’s any on her mouth, if the colour suits her, if Dorothea likes the sight of her as much as Bernadetta does her – it feels so unlikely, impossible even, but here Dorothea is, smiling bright with fondness in her pretty eyes). They’d been kissing for – oh, Goddess knows how long, Bernadetta’s mind was hazy, her thoughts coming slow and syrupy. They’d broken apart for breath, but only for as long as they needed to; as soon as they were able, Bernadetta was lurching forward to clumsily capture Dorothea’s mouth, or Dorothea was cupping her face with soft hands to pull her back in, or – or – or –

They’re not kissing anymore though, because Bernadetta was always ruining things for herself by being a neurotic stupid freak who – 

“Hey,” Dorothea said into the silence between them; she was leant back, likely to give Bernadetta space, because she’s nice like that. So nice that Bernie can’t quite believe it sometimes, so unused to kindness that no matter how much she trusts Dorothea she can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. “Are you okay, you’re – oh, sweetie, you’re shaking.” 

“It’s nothing, it’s stupid, I just though I, uh, heard someone.” This wasn’t a lie – she did, heard footsteps and a door slam, and her body jolted, and she was no longer in a molasses-like daze but in panic mode, like every time she heard her father’s footsteps grow louder, closer, and no matter what she was doing, would freeze in fear. 

It wasn’t her father. Her father wasn’t there. 

And yet. Her body never quite seemed to figure that out. Every slam of a door, every loud noise, every stern look – her body acts on its own.

Dorothea stays leant back in order to look at her face with those pretty, kind eyes of her. Her hands were gentle and soothing in their movements against Bernie’s back.

“Door’s locked,” Dorothea murmured, not dismissively but reassuringly, “No-one’s coming in. And even if they could, we’re not doing anything wrong.” 

Bernadetta knows that, on an objective level. But what’s rational and what she _feels_ never have lined up. 

Not that it _feels_ wrong – it doesn’t, it feels _so_ right that sometimes she feels she could burst with it. She could write books upon books about the way Dorothea makes her feel.

But the thing is – the thing is Bernie is haunted by nightmares of her father getting his hands on Dorothea. Usually, they’ll start off pleasant; she’ll be in bed with Dorothea and she has her arms around Bernie, their legs tangled together, Dorothea’s lips warm against her temple. And then he’ll burst in, no explanation or preamble, drag Dorothea off and away from her – Bernie tries to scream but no noise comes out, tries to move but she’s paralysed, and she can’t do anything about it as her father – 

“Hey, hey, darling, stay with me. Stay here with me, okay?” The fear in Dorothea’s voice was like ice cold water startling her awake. She’s distantly aware that her breaths are coming out as choked sobs and tries to take steady breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered feebly, “I’m so so sorry, Thea, I can leave –”

“No,” Dorothea snapped and then looked startled at the sharpness of her own voice. Bernie felt like perhaps she should be startled too, frightened perhaps, but Dorothea’s anger was never towards Bernie, even if sometimes it’s _for_ her. 

(At the beginning of their relationship, Bernie assumed her anger _was_ directed at her, for being so weak and pathetic that her father, even just the memory of him, frightened the life out of her. She should’ve known, looking back, that this wasn’t the case – that she was projecting onto Dorothea, Dorothea who had only ever been kind and tender with her.

“I’m gonna fucking kill your father one day,” Dorothea had gritted out after some offhand comments Bernie had made about her childhood. This was when the penny dropped, that it was not her fear but the root of it that enraged Dorothea so. And the relief had washed over her so powerful that she laughed.

“Um,” Dorothea had responded, wind taken out of her sails a bit. 

“Please,” Bernie said through giggles, trying to stop laughing enough to take Dorothea’s threat seriously. “Don’t do that.” 

Dorothea hadn’t looked angry anymore, just bemused and fond, but carried on anyway, “Why not? Ferdie and Caspar would back me.” 

And for some reason, that had made her giggle more, even as she protested this hypothetical, even as her heart warmed of the thought of her friends taking it upon themselves to rid Bernie of her biggest fear.)

“No, stay – here, lie with me.” 

Bernie did as she was told, lying next to Dorothea on her rumpled bedsheets. 

“I’m sorry. For ruining it.” 

“Hey, stop the apologies, silly. You've done nothing wrong. If anything, I’m sorry for not picking up on it.”

Bernie made a noise of protest, but her argument was derailed by a quick and unexpected kiss, gone as fast as it came. 

“What can I do for you?” Dorothea said, bumping their foreheads together; in a rush, Bernie felt overwhelmed by love and gratitude. She sent a thanks to the goddess for blessing her with this loving, beautiful girl, before cuddling up closer, tucking her face into the crook of Dorothea’s neck. 

“This,” Dorothea said, settling her chin against the top of Bernie’s head and resting a hand against the small of her back to tug her even closer, “I definitely can do.”

“Thanks,” Bernie whispered, feeling Dorothea shiver against her at the sensation of hot breath and lips against her neck. 

“You know,” Dorothea said, idle as if the thought had just struck her, after a few moments of blissful, calming quiet, “if anyone did burst in here with a problem, I’d greet them with a meteor to the face.”

Bernadetta laughed, even though she knew Dorothea, despite her joking tone, was entirely sincere. 

_I love you,_ Bernadetta thought, _and someday – someday I’ll be brave enough to tell you._


End file.
